Gemotions

The coffee shop buzzed with Saturday morning chatter, a stark contrast to the hollow ache inside Leo. He spotted it instantly – his painting, the one of his late wife holding a single sunflower, rendered in meticulous detail on a barista’s shoulder blade. He felt a sharp, piercing jab in his chest, as though something inside him had fractured.

He watched her move, the image shifting and swaying with her. It was a perfect copy, every line, every shadow. How could someone take something so personal, so bound to a lost love, and wear it as a fashion statement?

Leo felt his throat constrict, the taste of bile rising in his mouth. He found himself unable to speak, the words lost in the rush of nausea. He took his coffee and went, the image of his wife's face now forever tainted by the casual act of a stranger.